The Cornish Girls. Betty Walker

The Cornish Girls - Betty Walker


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      WARTIME WITH THE CORNISH GIRLS

      Betty Walker

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       Copyright

      Published by AVON

      A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2021

      Copyright © Jane Holland 2021

      Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

      Cover photographs © headdesign.com (figures); Shutterstock.com (background)

      Jane Holland asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780008400286

      Ebook Edition © February 2021 ISBN: 9780008400293

      Version: 2021-01-07

       Dedication

      In memory of my amazing mother, Sheila Ann Mary Holland, aka the novelist Charlotte Lamb, whose vivid anecdotes from a wartime childhood helped inspire this novel. Thank you, Mum!

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Chapter Thirty-One

       Chapter Thirty-Two

       Chapter Thirty-Three

       Chapter Thirty-Four

       Chapter Thirty-Five

       Chapter Thirty-Six

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER ONE

       Dagenham, East London, April 1941

      Violet had known since leaving the café that she was being followed. She kept glancing over her shoulder, but in the thickening dusk she couldn’t pinpoint her pursuer. The streets were dark, all lights out as usual, and whoever was on her trail was keeping furtively to the shadows. Not for the first time, she wished she’d accepted Fred’s kindly offer to walk her home, since it was Mum’s half-day at the café and she’d left work at lunch-time. But Violet hadn’t wanted to lead Fred on; he was a real gent and very attentive, but not her type, and it would be wrong to pretend an interest just to avoid trouble.

      Besides, it was high time she gave these nasty lads a piece of her mind. Following her about, whispering behind her back, pointing in the street …

      Nobody should have to put up with this nonsense.

      People had even started avoiding their little café, through no fault of her mum’s. A widow now, Mum needed every penny she could get from her cakes and sandwiches, especially when rationing had made life so difficult.

      Violet waited until she was nearly at the door to Number 27, then whirled, hands on hips, and glared into the shadows. She was tall for a woman, with a trim figure, and knew her height could sometimes be intimidating, so deliberately drew herself up and pushed her shoulders back.

      ‘Right, who’s there?’ she demanded, putting on the no-nonsense voice she used with Betsy’s two daughters, though they honestly didn’t need to be kept in line. Poor girls, they’d just lost their mum and could hardly lift their heads for weeping. And she’d lost a much-loved sister. ‘Come out and show yourself!’

      To her surprise, it wasn’t one of the unruly youths from the neighbouring streets, come to taunt her again, but Fred who stepped out of the shadows.

      ‘Fred?’ She couldn’t hide the astonishment in her voice. ‘What are you doing, for goodness’ sake?’ She shook her head, her heartbeat slowing as she realised it had been no foe, but a friend following her. ‘Bloody hell, you gave me such a start!’

      ‘I’m s-sorry, Miss Hopkins,’ Fred stammered, removing his cap and turning it nervously between his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten yer.’

      ‘I told you,


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